


A Conversation in the midst of Conflict

by LadyHallen



Series: This is your fault, Ms. Jellyfish! [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don't repost, DragonSansa AU, Dragons, F/M, Interspecies Relationship, Magic, Worldbuilding, do not copy to another site, except weirder, this is almost like toothless and hiccup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen
Summary: Sansa Stark, decade old dragon, has finally found her treasure.Cor Leonis, young army recruit, just wanted to die in the mountains.Their relationship changes the course of a war.
Relationships: Cor Leonis/Sansa Stark, Robb Stark & Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark & Stark Siblings
Series: This is your fault, Ms. Jellyfish! [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982642
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	A Conversation in the midst of Conflict

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, I was saying to myself, hallen, just re-write the toothless and hiccup meeting scene, except from the dragons point of view. No pressure.

Sansa was born from a clutch of five eggs.

Her dam, a red fire dragon from the south, was probably the reason why the eggs hatched slowly and not all at once, as it usually happened in the North. Her sire, a regal ice drake of the North, viewed this as a sort of terrible thing and regularly nosed worriedly at the rest of her slowly hatching siblings.

Robb, first, with the ice scales of their sire and fire breath of their dam. Sansa, who had felt her sire nosing at her worriedly, went next just to reassure him. She had the coloring of their dam and her fire claws, but the ice breath of their sire.

The rest of the clutch hatched more slowly and it took Sansa a lot of effort to distract their worried sire.

Not that Sansa was that overly concerned. As a young dragon, technically a hatchling until she passed her third decade, Sansa was more concerned about food, play hunting with Robb and finding treasure.

Dragons loved treasure, though it varied on what that treasure was.

Sansa’s dam treasured beauty, thus she surrounded herself with beautiful things. That was one of the reasons why she mated with Sansa’s sire who, as an ice drake, was naturally very beautiful.

Sansa’s sire treasured sharp things, hence his need to hunt down some animals for their claws.

Robb and Sansa discussed their possible treasures under the wide, comforting wings of their dam. With just the two of them, it was quite cozy and she sometimes didn’t understand why her sire was so worried about the rest of the clutch that were taking their time hatching.

Robb, who already shared their dams tendency to fixate on something, wondered if his treasure would be a mix of both. Sansa, who was more whimsical, wondered if hers would be difficult to find.

All that went away in the events of the following years.

A decade under her belt, the rest of her clutch hatched and the western dragons arrived and talked of interlopers. Small, bipedal and without wings or claws. They were also killing dragons.

Sansa curled up under her dams wings and listened with fascination and no small amount of horror.

Without wings, claws or scales, they were killing dragons and stealing their eggs and their treasures.

Her sire, being the strongest dragon, banded all of them and they stood under his banner. He trooped them all to the west and negotiated.

Sansa, of course, was left with a handful of the younger hatchlings, as well as the older dragons. They watched over the mountains and Robb watched with ever increasing vigilance over them. This made Arya and Bran chafe something fierce, when Robb had previously been a fun playmate.

Torn between rowdy, rambunctious clutch-siblings and a fiercely overprotective clutch-brother, Sansa took to wandering down the mountain and finding something else to do.

Hunting was a communal activity and everyone contributed. At most, that took a few hours. Sansa had the rest of the day to think about what to do.

And then she encountered a shiny pink bipedal.

It took Sansa a while to understand what she was looking at, because she had never seen a bipedal of her own.

She crawled forward, trying not to make noise, like she was hunting the skittish hairy buffalo’s. She crawled until she was nose to nose with the strange creature and could smell him.

And it was a him, she realized. There was a distinct scent of maleness and steel. Oil, steel and salt. And something sour.

With another whuff of breath, Sansa realized that the bipedal was awake.

It’s eyes were wide and it was saying something with its maw. Nonsensical noises that no dragon could hope to understand, because it was so loud.

“Hello?” she said, hoping he could understand her.

The bipedal went still and the sour scent increased. He gripped something iron firmly and Sansa touched it curiously with her nose. She sneezed when the scent of old blood overwhelmed her.

To her horror, that old blood scent was of dragons.

Sansa back-pedaled in a hurry, staring at the steel. What a horrible thing. Did he _wash_ his iron in dragon blood?

Sansa wanted to fly away, but if she did, this bipedal might hunt her down. She knew some dragons who liked the hunt. If this bipedal wanted to hunt her, she would not oblige him.

With a low growl, Sansa crouched and prepared to pepper the interloper with a blast of ice breath. It might not be as impressive as her sires, but it would hopefully blind the interloper on what direction she would fly to.

The bipedal dropped his iron and Sansa was confused enough to stop. What was he doing?

He knelt and…he _showed his neck_.

Different species though they were, surrender was something universal, as was submission.

She got closer, because he smelled better without the iron thing muddling his smell. Just to be sure, she blasted it with a bit of ice breath, coating it in ice and snow and burying it under the earth. The air smelled clearer and she approached him with an energetic swish of her tail.

“Better,” she decided loudly. She sniffed him again and added a lick for good measure. There, he smelled like her.

His eyes were wide and he smelled overwhelmingly sour again.

“Are you afraid?” Sansa asked, realizing why he smelled sour. “Do not be. I will not harm you.”

Sansa curled around him, letting him rest on her fire scales so he would be warm and purring, a low rumbling sound that was designed to put hatchlings to sleep.

When she next looked, the bipedal was asleep.

Sansa purred deeper and rested her snout on her paws.

.

* * *

.

Sansa blinked and realized that she’d fallen into a light doze. A muffled groan made her realize what woke her up.

Her bipedal was awake! And he was no longer smelling sour.

Sansa hurriedly stood up, stretching her wings wide and investigating the scent of meat on fire.

“Why is your meat on fire?” she asked. “And why are you eating it like that?”

The bipedal went still and then continued moving, offering her a bit of the burned meat.

It was an insult to offer burned meat to an ice drake, but Sansa realized that this bipedal probably didn’t know that.

With a huff, she froze the meat before eating it delicately between her fangs. It was difficult, because the bipedal had drained it of blood too, making it incredibly dry to eat. Her nose wrinkled the entire time and the bipedal made a chittering noise.

Sansa blinked at his maw full of fangs.

He didn’t _smell_ aggressive. Instead, he smelled….happy?

With a hesitant twitch, Sansa imitated him and he chittered louder. He smelled happier. Sansa purred.

.

* * *

.

Sansa bundled up her bipedal in a warm cave and hunted him a buffalo for good measure. She dropped the struggling creature in the cave, to the bipedal’s loud shouts. He killed it, which made Sansa huff irritably. Well, maybe he liked his prey to be dead? Sansa preferred to hunt hers.

Sansa nosed a couple more leaves on top of the entrance and a few more piles of snow, before leaving. She could not stay a couple more hours, or Robb would ring the alarm and the search would begin.

Something made her want to stay. This bipedal, this pink, hairless creature…he was so helpless. He shivered constantly unless she was touching him. He was also helpless at catching prey. He was…important.

The bipedal touched her snout and Sansa shivered.

With a sigh, she licked him head to toe again and left.

.

* * *

.

Robb looked at her suspiciously the entire time, but Sansa had rolled in the lake before entering the cave, so he couldn’t possibly smell the bipedal on her.

“Where were you? I needed help with our clutch-siblings,” he exclaimed, his tail thrashing back and forth irritably.

Sansa herself was still. “You were being annoying. Dam and sire are not here, but that does not make you in charge,” she said sourly.

“But I am,” a larger, elderly dragon posited, bulk unnoticed with his dark color in the cave. “And where were you, Sansa ice-eater?”

Sansa sniffed. “By the lake. Because you were all smelly.”

They let go of that and Sansa huddled with her clutch. She found herself idly wishing that she was curled around her bipedal.

.

* * *

.

Cor struggled with sleep, because he was so tired.

Tired, cold and exhausted, but not hungry. Because there was a freaking water buffalo hanging in a spit in front of him.

He was also, he thought with some hysteria, some sort of friend to a dragon.

He hadn’t actually wanted to kill any of the majestic creatures, and after his first kill, he deserted, leaving the army and hoping to die in the colder climate of the mountains.

He just hadn’t realized that the mountains were the home to the stronger, more deadly dragons and he’d realized he was fucked the moment he woke up from his exhausted nap face to face with a fucking ice and fire drake hybrid.

He saw the fire scales, and the ice fangs and knew he was a dead man.

Except.

Except the hybrid hadn’t eaten him, and other than sniffing his sword and threatening to kill him, hadn’t even looked like it wanted to hurt him.

He’d discarded the sword quickly and the hybrid had buried it in _ice_ and dirt. A dragon who breathed ice. It was insane.

The hybrid then curled around him and Cor was exhausted enough to fall back asleep because the hybrid was a furnace of heat.

He woke up, caught a bird and roasted it, which seemed to wake up the hybrid. He offered it some and he damn near cackled at its face when it ate cooked meat. It had to ice it over. Note to self, no cooked meat for the hybrid.

He didn’t regret throwing away his sword because the dragon was cautiously friendly.

He regretted only having a knife though when the hybrid dropped a _living_ water buffalo near him and he didn’t have his sword to kill it with. A lucky strike and the buffalo was dead. The dragon looked confused but not offended.

It also left, but not before piling the entrance of the cave with more ice and dirt. More a blockade or a door than anything.

Also licking. Let’s not forget the licking.

Cor was confused, but alive. He was also very much done of smelling like dragon drool and had to wiggle out of the pile of ice and dirt just to have a bath. He knows there’s a lake near, because water buffalo’s lived near water.

It took a while to find it, and he was almost in tears at the sight of all the water.

The first splash of water on him was heaven sent and also ice-cold freezing.

He was in and out in five minutes, the fastest he’d ever bathed in his life. There was a lack of soap and his clothes were still dirty, but it was warm and he’d rather have dirty clothes than hypothermia.

A huff of air behind him, and Cor knew it was the hybrid dragon before he could turn around.

“Good morning!” he greeted, more cheerful after the bath.

The dragon huffed at him, looking confused, before opening its mouth.

Cor, somehow, knew it was going to lick him again.

“No!” he exclaimed, dodging the tongue.

The dragon looked even more annoyed.

“No licking!” he cried out.

The dragon rumbled a sour growly note, but stopped trying to lick him. It nosed at Cor’s hair and sneezed.

“I know, I smell,” he confided. He felt a little bit mad at talking to a dragon. “But there’s no soap here, or soapwort.”

Soapwort, which you could crush and simulate the effects of soap. Extremely handy during long campaigns and the army ran out of soap. Except, it seemed to thrive only in hot and temperate climates. Not in the extremely cold mountains.

The dragon made its own rumbling noises. Noises that had so alarmed Cor the night before seemed to be more conversational than anything in the light of day.

It was more of a comfort to Cor than the dragon probably knew. He had been alone for so long that even random noises that seemed to answer and talk back at him was more conversation than he had in _weeks_. At some point, Cor gestured and dragged his hand across it’s scales.

The dragon then went still.

Cor also went still, because shit, he’d forgotten he was talking to a dragon.

Then.

Then wonders of fucking wonders, the dragon pushed up at Cor’s hand.

Cor had acquainted himself with enough animals to know what _that_ meant.

Cor petted the dragon. The dragon fucking fell asleep on him!

.

* * *

.

Sansa had fallen asleep on top of her bipedal and he had looked uncomfortable and smelled hungry.

She hurried him along to his cave, where she knew his food was.

Some of the hairy buffalo was still there, he must not have been so hungry then if he left some. Sansa watched him eat and wanted to purr again. There was something incredibly soothing watching her bipedal take care of himself.

She could just watch him move around and do whatever it was that bipedals do and be content.

An alarm rang in her hindbrain and Sansa raised her head up.

 _Her_ bipedal..??? Had she…had she…. _made_ this creature her _treasure???_

With a squawk of alarm, Sansa licked her bipedal goodbye – ignored his shout of disgust - and flew back to her elders.

“How did you realize you’d found your treasure,” she asked the Eldest of twelve clutch. Her name was a long one and Sansa only bothered to call her Eldest like all the other hatchlings.

The Eldest peered down at her through old, milky eyes and smelled amused.

“I looked at my treasure of shiny rocks and wanted to no one else to touch them,” she crooned in her old, soothing voice.

Which. Was exactly what she felt, staring at her bipedal.

“Ah, thank you, Eldest,” she said.

Sansa wandered over to her clutch-siblings and curled around Rickon tightly. He was still a few months old and struggled to coordinate wings, tail and limbs without tangling himself up.

Robb stared at her suspiciously, because he was just like that, and Sansa rolled her eyes.

She was just in time for storytelling and listened with interest about the dragon who went mad talking to birds. The lesson being to eat your prey quickly and not to play with it, or it’s blood.

Sansa had heard the same stories told over and over since she was hatched. Some of them were boring, but something about the story made her hackles rise up and listen.

What about old Aicorn who played with his bird before eating it. The bird had gotten a bite at Aicorn’s tongue, drawing blood. Aicorn, who drank at the bird’s blood too…and both of them apparently went mad.

Blood. Sharing blood?

Sansa felt her tail move in excitement. To be able to understand her treasure. What a gift.

Sansa curled tighter around Rickon, who grumbled irritably, and went to sleep.

.

* * *

.

Cor was alarmed to find the dragon sniffing him over with _intent_ the next day.

The dragon hadn’t done that since that disastrous first meeting and Cor wanted to cry. Why? Why was the dragon suspicious? Had he done something wrong?

He did notice that the dragon had left really fast yesterday, seemingly alarmed over something.

Then the dragon opened its mouth and revealed those incredibly sharp fangs. Cor went still, especially when the dragon aimed those fangs at his…at his fingers? Did the dragon want his finger?

Cor obliged, cutting a finger at one fang and the dragon licked at the blood, wrinkling its nose.

It hurt, but not so much, because the dragons fangs were ice cold too.

Then, to his horror, the dragon bit at its own forepaw and offered the welled up blood to Cor. Difference in species or not, the gesture for _that_ was the same.

“Are you insane?” he asked loudly.

The dragon huffed, a tail pushed him forward and he tripped. The dragon, in a crazy show of coordination, pushed that bleeding forepaw at him and Cor involuntarily _licked and swallowed_.

He wanted to wretch immediately.

“Eurgh!” he gagged. “Oh my god, it tastes like day old buffalo blood.”

To his alarm, there was a hum in his mind, a feminine voice going, “ _How do you know what day old buffalo blood tastes like?”_

Cor wasn’t educated, but he was smart. He immediately understood what that blood sharing was for.

“Did you…just exchange blood with me so we could talk?” Cor asked. He wasn’t sure what to be surprised about anymore.

“ _Did you not want to communicate?”_ the dragon asked, sounding distressed. “ _I thought you did, you chittered about so loudly.”_

Cor was _loud._ The dragon, who made a thud every time she landed. The dragon who purred like an extra large cat. And sure, _Cor_ was the loud one.

“Communication is fine,” Cor said dryly. “What’s your name, anyway? If you have one. My name is Cor.”

 _“I am Sansa of the Stark line, First Clutch of the Fire Drake Catelyn and Ice Drake Eddard, Lord of the Northern Mountains and Protector of the Seven Dragon Clans of the North,”_ the dragon announced proudly.

Cor was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open. What the fuck.

He was hanging out with a fucking Drake Lord’s daughter.

Practically a princess.

And she kept licking him.

Cor blinked out of his thoughts and looked at the dragon in front of him.

“Nice to meet you, Sansa,” he said. “Why do you keep licking me?”

Sansa laughed, which sounded rumbled terrifyingly out-loud, but sounded nicely in his mind. _“Because you smell wrong. Like oil and salt and steel.”_

 _“What are you called, Cor?”_ she asked. _“I keep calling you fleshy bipedal.”_

Cor choked on a laugh. “You’re not wrong. I’m a human.”

 _“A human! What a nice word. Yes, I will say it often. Human,”_ Sansa sang. _“Much better than bipedal.”_

“Have you been calling us that?” Cor asked with a smile. Yes, he could see the humor. King Mors thought that the dragons were savage, beastly creatures. But instead, they had clans. They had hierarchy. They had Lords. They were nobler than the humans that Cor knew.

“ _Yes, it was what we saw, so we called you that. Cor, why are your people here?”_ Sansa asked. She sounded curious.

“Because King Mors is a crazy, bloodthirsty monster that wants your peoples gold,” Cor answered bitterly before he could think about it.

 _“Gold?”_ Sansa asked, looking curious.

If what he remembered about theories about telepathy was true….

He thought long and hard about gold and tried to project the thought to her.

 _“Oh! You mean the shiny, yellow stuff!”_ she exclaimed. _“It’s useless. It’s too soft to be used as a structure and too easily mixed with other metals for anything else. It’s mostly just good for decoration.”_

Cor really did laugh then. Dragons found gold useless. What else?

“You don’t use gold as treasure?” he had to ask. “Then what do you treasure?”

Sansa sat on her haunches and tucked her tail around her limbs neatly. _“Different things. It depends on the dragon? My dam treasures beautiful things. My sire treasures sharp things.”_

That was _fascinating_. Different dragons and different treasures. He knew that lore book on dragons was trash.

“And you?” he had to ask. “What do you treasure?”

Sansa peered at him, blue eyes slitted and intelligent. _“I treasure you, my fleshy bipedal human Cor.”_

.

* * *

.

After that declaration, which Sansa found immensely embarrassing and simultaneously pleasing to say so bluntly, her human, her Cor, turned red. It was a fascinating look on him and she wondered why she turned that color.

He spluttered and made flailing motions with his limbs and Sansa just watched him. She could really just watch him move around and be pleased. He was such a helpless thing and she treasured him so.

After he calmed down from his upset, Sansa and Cor talked long and hard into the afternoon about serious things. Mostly about the war and what they could do to avoid it and possibly stop it.

 _“My dam and sire are trying to open negotiations,”_ Sansa offered. _“Though no one knows how that is going. They have been gone for three moons and the hatchlings are lonely.”_

Cor snorted, that strange affectation that conveyed so much with so little. “If King Mors is who they’re negotiating with, then no, things won’t go well. But. If they talk to Prince Regis, then things…might be resolved.”

Sansa pondered this. _“How do we make your Prince Regis be the Lord of the humans then?”_

Cor answered hesitantly, “When King Mors dies.”

Sansa smiled, a mouth full of ice fangs. _“Then he will die. And then we will talk to your Regis.”_

.

* * *

.

Their conversation, which had veered into the treasonous territory (for Cor that is), was derailed when a large hybrid ice drake dropped down and landed on Sansa’s back, screeching.

Since Cor had no connection to _that_ ice drake, he didn’t attack immediately. It might be friendly. Or not. Cor could understand _Sansa_ and she sounded annoyed, not angry.

 _“Clutch-brother, what are you doing?”_ she demanded.

The ice drake hybrid, her freaking brother, growled. Low, deep and threatening.

Staring at the two dragons and cataloguing differences, Cor immediately realized that the other dragon was male. It was smaller, and it’s wings wider. It was also covered in more spines than Sansa and it’s claws were ice instead of hot-bone. But it was also older, the feet more proportional to the rest of him and none of the awkward coltishness in Sansa’s limbs.

 _“I have found my treasure and I am talking to him,”_ Sansa suddenly said and Cor wanted to die all over again. Declarations of affection so boldly said were awful. Cor had absolutely no defence against it.

The embarrassment almost made him miss the other dragon’s squawk of offense.

 _“Treasure is treasure, especially if you’ve found it. Stop being dramatic. My treasure hasn’t hurt me at all and he is a helpless thing, always easily cold and I have to hunt for him. He’s not a monster,”_ Sansa said reasonably.

Embarrassment faded to outrage. He was not helpless, thank you very much. Just very unused to the weather. Eos was much more temperate and he knew what he was hunting there. Also, he couldn’t use his sword. Sansa had very much buried it under dirt and ice.

The other dragon stopped sounding so angry.

 _“Of course I can talk to him,”_ Sansa said, making Cor huff. _“And yes, he can talk back and we understand each other. We shared blood. Like Aicorn the mad and his birds.”_

Like Aicorn the who??? Mad? Does drinking dragon blood make one crazy?

Cor had _concerns._

Both dragons suddenly turned to him and Cor wanted to be nervous but he was just. Tired. It was almost five hours since he last ate.

 _“My clutch-brother wants to talk to you as well,”_ Sansa said. _“Shall I use my fangs? His teeth are uncomfortable. It is always hot.”_

No, thank you. Cor had a knife.

The other dragon licked at his wound and offered Cor his own bleeding paw. Cor braced himself for the taste for the second time and gagged again.

By the Astrals, the taste was not improved with knowledge. Day old buffalo blood, somehow, more spicy this time.

“I swear, it really tastes awful,” Cor groaned. “I need to wash my mouth out.”

A distinctly _male_ voice sounded in his head, very offended, “ _You don’t taste like venison either, fleshy bipedal. You taste like over-fermented lion.”_

“Call me Cor,” he told the dragon. Fleshy bipedal sounded distinctly condescending said in that voice and Cor hated it.

The dragon sniffed like a crotchety old grandma. _“Robb of the Stark line, eldest child of the First Clutch of the Fire Drake Catelyn and Ice Drake Eddard, Lord of the Northern Mountains and Protector of the Seven Dragon Clans of the North,”_

By Bahamut’s wings, did these dragons have to announce themselves like that all the time? It must be tiring.

For the second time, though with another, older and wiser dragon, plans continued. Still treasonous. Though Cor was getting very fond of the dragons and angrier with the humans for killing dragons.

Plans solidified, and Robb, while a very stuck up and paranoid dragon, was obviously a genius strategist.

 _“While it pains me to suggest this, clutch-sister,”_ Robb eventually said slowly. _“Your treasure might have to part ways with you to seek out this Regis. He has to be informed of what his sire is doing before things go beyond terrible. I will have to go with him, because how else will he convince the humans of our bloodsharing?”_

 _“And why can’t I go?”_ Sansa demanded. _“Do not forget that we are born only a few days apart, clutch-brother.”_

 _“I can leave without garnering suspicion,”_ Robb explained. _“Since sire and dam need reports and might need help. I can convince the Eldest to send me. You, however, are the only one that can control our clutch-siblings. Which you have been leaving to me while you cavort with your treasure.”_

The last was said with such a dirty look that it made Cor laugh despite his exhaustion. So. Sansa was supposed to be babysitting but was instead with Cor.

 _“Do not laugh,”_ Robb said sternly, which made Cor laugh harder. _“Our clutch-siblings are hatchlings. And they all three breathe fire. It is a miracle that there hasn’t been an avalanche yet.”_

Okay, point.

“Don’t be sad, Sansa,” Cor said, because he did agree with Robb. “I’ll finish this as fast as we can.”

Sansa, there was no other way to say it, _pouted._

 _“I will miss you, my treasure,”_ she whispered to him.

Cor blushed again.

.

* * *

.

The human encampment was exactly where Cor left it. The only difference was the multitude of dragons surrounding it.

Robb eyed it and exchanged glances with Cor.

 _“We might need to change our plans,”_ Robb said.

They couldn’t sneak in, there were too many sensitive senses watching.

“What’s happening? Can you tell?” Cor asked.

Robb sniffed long and hard, eyes on the encampment and on the very large ice drake by the very middle.

 _“There is no war,”_ Robb said. _“But negotiations are not going well. Neither side understands each other. I have no idea what magic your people are using to talk, but it is not translating well.”_

Cor immediately smacked his head. Of course, the king and his blood had magic. He had forgotten.

“I don’t think magic does well with dragons,” Cor said, remembering the king’s face when he tried a fire spell at one dragon. “I think you’re all immune to it.”

Robb tossed his head. _“And what do we do now?”_

Cor, because he was regaining his old confidence, laughed. “We drop in the middle and I’ll talk. You make sure no one kills me.”

Robb eyed him. _“If you die, my sister will kill me. I am not jesting. She will rip me limb from limb.”_ The dragon sounded nervous.

Cor smiled toothily. “I don’t die that easily.”

.

The good news was that King Mors was dead.

The bad news was that the very large ice dragon in the middle of the encampment had killed him with one ice spear and it was making negotiations…icy.

Fortunately, Cor had a reputation before he left as a prissy asshole prodigiously good with a sword. That meant the newly crowned Regis remembered him well.

Clarus pointed a sword at him, but Cor just ducked aside impatiently.

“Hey, King Regis,” Cor shouted. “Let me talk to you. You’re going about this wrong.”

A lot of the imperial soldiers tried to skewer him right then and Cor sort of forgot that he only had a knife. And no sword. Fuck.

But he had a dragon behind him.

Robb roared and when that made everyone else scrabble for weapons, the even larger ice dragon roared louder.

“No, really,” he shouted in the sudden, suspenseful silence. “I have to talk to you. I know how to talk to the dragons.”

King Regis looked more tired than anything. “Sure. We need all the help we can get. The translation spells aren’t going well since they keep slipping off.”

Cor shook his head. “Of course it won’t, the dragons are nulls. You have to bloodshare to be able to talk to one another. Though it really tastes terrible.”

Regis _stared_. “What?”

“Yeah, what he said,” Clarus said, sounding stunned.

Sighing, Cor explained.

.

* * *

.

Sansa sat at the ledge and stared at the horizon irritably.

It had been five days and Sansa _missed_ her treasure. Terribly. Incredibly. It made her very being _ache_.

“Sansa, you’re so boring nowadays,” Arya complained.

Sansa slid down and curled around Arya, who protested. “My treasure is away. I miss him.”

Arya nudged her and nudged her until, annoyed, Sansa lunged and chased after her. Bran and Rickon, who were watching, the little rascals, joined in and climbed up her wings.

The rest of the elders watched them indulgently.

They rolled around, biting, scratching and play hunting until the hatchlings fell asleep, exhausted. Sansa returned to her ledge, sighing.

Except.

There, on the horizon, were several dragons.

And on one dragon was her treasure. Her very being just knew. That one was hers.

With a cry of happiness, Sansa launched herself off the ledge and flew towards him.

Her lovely, her precious treasure.

He launched himself at her in mid air to Robb’s alarm. But Sansa caught him. She would always catch him.

And she felt it as she held him in the cradle of her fire claws. That she was whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I'm probably gonna post some additional scenes that didn't make it into this one-shot as a next chapter. Mostly about Sansa getting a few more decades and realizing that her fleshy was not ageing at all....probably because of the dragon blood.
> 
> I just also counted the number of dragon fics I have and....it's getting to be a number. This is the fourth. OMG.
> 
> Comments please!


End file.
